Page 105 of The Rebel and the Rose
Magic erupted from Sera’s chest, flooding the bedchamberlike molten sunlight. The walls turned gold, a blanket of fresh heat falling over them. And with it – a perfect punishing bliss.
Aeons passed, the world slowly coming back together. He kissed her shoulder, murmuring soft words of adoration, before reluctantly drawing back and ducking into the adjacent bathroom.
Sera lay in a puddle of moonlight, her body and mind thoroughly sated. And yet, that heat inside her refused to recede. Somehow, it felt like her magic wanted more.
Maker, keened that ancient rippling voice.
Now is the time.
Frowning, she sat up.Behave. She tugged the bedsheet around her, dampening the eerie glow of her skin while she waited for Ransom to return. She could hear him humming to himself in the bathroom. Spotting a notebook and pen on the bedside table, she had the sudden urge to write him a note. Something funny and sweet, and absent of their usual overt hostility.
She reached for the journal, meaning only to tear a page out but it fell open on the centrefold, revealing a spread of tortured drawings.
It was a corral of terrifying beasts inked in black. There were wolves with scythe-like fangs and blood-soaked curling claws. Snakes with jackal heads and winged monsters plucked of all their feathers. Sera couldn’t tear her gaze away. Turning page after page, she stared in silent horror at Ransom’s innermost nightmares, the wretched things that haunted him whenever he closed his eyes. The monsters that snapped at hisheels. Was this the work of his Shade-ravaged mind, or an artist’s imagination that had been honed in the catacombs of Fantome? Fed on terror and bloodshed, and given no freedom to thrive?
‘Enjoying the hidden reaches of my mangled soul, Seraphine?’
A whole new wave of horror gripped her as she snapped her head up. There was no greater embarrassment than to be caught snooping, but to look upon something so personal… sohaunting… it was an unforgivable intrusion.
Ransom stood over her. His chest and feet were bare, and he was dressed in loose trousers. His hair was dripping wet, water beads sliding down his cheeks and pooling in the hollow of his collarbones.
She slammed the journal shut. ‘I’m sorry. I was looking for a piece of paper. I wanted to write you a note.’
His brows lifted, the tension seeping from his jaw. ‘Of what sort?’
All thought left her. ‘Um, the nice sort?’
‘I find that hard to believe.’ A corner of his mouth ticked up. He was teasing her, not angry but perhaps embarrassed. As she stared up at him, like a deer caught on the hunt, she noticed the smooth expanse of his olive chest, and a new realization struck.
The words came on a gasp. ‘Your shadow-marks. They’re gone.’
He was smiling now. Of course he had noticed already. Even her shameless snooping couldn’t banish the relief on his face, the fact that her magic had healed him.
And still it purred in her chest.
What more could you possibly want?
Maker, it crooned.
She shook it off, a new thought belatedly occurring to her. ‘Did I hurt you?’
He shook his head. ‘How could you hurt me, Seraphine? You are my antidote.’
Flopping backwards, she grinned up at him. For the first time in months, she didn’t resent her magic. She was grateful for it, wonderstruck by its restorative power. Maybe it was Marvale, or her meeting with another saint, or her growing feelings for Ransom, but she was starting to feel excited about her power. Hopeful about what else it could do.
Ransom set his journal back on the nightstand. ‘And these… my nightmares… they didn’t frighten you?’
‘Of course not,’ she said, quickly. ‘I’m just sorry you have to see those monsters whenever you fall asleep.’
‘It helps to draw them. Gets them out of my head.’ His smile was rueful. ‘Makes room for more, I suppose.’
‘Maybe that will change now,’ she said, softly.
‘Maybe.’
He lay down beside her, and she turned into him, thinking of her life far beyond this night.
He gazed down at her. ‘A kingdom for your thoughts.’
